


Roses Are Red

by Peregrin_Ionad



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peregrin_Ionad/pseuds/Peregrin_Ionad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 things Gwen got on valentine’s day (and the one thing Ianto got, without any persuasion whatsoever)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses Are Red

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so it's set on Valentine's day, which isn't anywhere near November, but it's Gwen+Ianto being BFFs and a bit of Gwen/Rhys, Jack/Ianto, so all's good!  
> I should probably point out that I own nothing - not the characters or the poetry quoted.

One.  
She places it on her desk, moves her paperwork to give it pride of place, and leans back in her chair to admire it.  
“Well,” Ianto says, “you’ve certainly compensated for everyone else’s lack.”  
Gwen laughs, and smiles fondly at the card, which is admittedly far larger than average, a brighter shade of pink than she’s ever seen since her disastrous eye shadow experiment in year eight, and covered in a dangerous amount of glitter.  
“I know, but his heart’s in the right place. I think I might have to upgrade the one I got for him.” She brandishes a significantly smaller card, already sealed in a plain envelope. “I was putting more stock on our anniversary, now that we’re married...” She stops suddenly. “Wait. You mean he,” she gestures with a finger towards Jack’s closed office door, “hasn’t got you anything? Not even a little card?” She looks affronted for Ianto and possibly prepared to march up and demand ten good reasons off Jack, so he distracts her with coffee.  
“Oh, you know, we’ve been very busy. I think he might have remembered, if it hadn’t been for the Raxacoricofallapatorians. Or the Chelonians. Possibly more the latter, all that talk of hermaphrodites will probably keep him distracted into the middle of next week.”  
Gwen looks disapproving, but Ianto steers then conversation onto the possibility of getting the afternoon off for shopping in town and she does her best to look suitably distracted.

Two.  
“It’s unlucky to give red roses in even numbers.” Ianto says as he reaches her desk, his face obscured by the biggest bunch of roses she’s ever seen. They’ve even been wrapped with ribbons and clearly cost far more than the Valentine’s bouquets she’d been admiring in Asda for the past two weeks. He puts the flowers down and she plucks one out of the middle, places it between her teeth and waltzes him round the hub, Jack watching in amusement from a walkway.  
When she releases him, he goes to finish his paperwork, or whatever it actually was he did down in the archives and when he resurfaces a little later, he finds the rose standing proudly in a mug of water on top of the coffee machine.

 

Three.  
The next card arrives around lunch, just before the takeaway. Gwen is manning the tourist desk, waiting for the food to arrive, when the card is pushed under the door. She recognises the handwriting instantly and opens it to find confetti hearts, which drift lazily to the floor. She scurries round to pick them all back up, knowing Ianto had only tidied the office the previous evening (the florescent green spots of indeterminable origin which had covered the office all week becoming a little disconcerting when they started eating into the desk and floor). A more extravagant card for Rhys was definitely in order.

Four.  
After they’ve eaten she checks her emails, Ianto leaning over her shoulder, waiting to read a reply from Jodrell Bank. Instead she has 11 emails from Rhys, no messages, just subject lines.  
“Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.” Ianto reads the first aloud. “Oh Gwen, that’s not romantic, that’s google.”  
“Hush, Ianto.” Gwen admonishes. “It’s sweet.”  
Ianto makes a noise which was somewhere between a huff and a snort of derision. Gwen doesn’t need to look at him to know he's rolling his eyes.  
“The next one, ‘I still recall the wondrous moment, when you appeared before my eyes, just like a fleeting apparition, just like pure beauty’s distillation.’ I’m sorry, Gwen, but I don’t believe that Rhys can quote Pushkin that fluently without the internet.”  
“Well, no, I suppose not.” Gwen replies. “Still up for shopping later?”

Five.  
When Gwen goes to find Ianto in the archives, to drag him away from his work for an hour or so, she brings with her another bouquet of flowers.  
“I really don’t know what’s got into him.” She says, before Ianto can open his mouth.  
“Maybe Rhys is developing his romantic side.” Ianto answers, not looking up from his filing. “It’s nice, if you like that sort of thing.”  
Gwen punches him lightly on the arm.  
“Rhys has always been romantic.”  
“He’s probably done something wrong then.” Ianto says. Gwen wonders if he used to do this for Lisa. She can’t imagine him being all ‘hearts and flowers’ with Jack, but she’s happy to be mistaken.

Plus one.  
Jack lets Gwen go early that evening, so Ianto walks her to her car, laden down with flowers. She gives him a hug and a kiss before she gets in, and makes him promise to give Jack the cheesy card she made him buy earlier, if only to see the look on his face. The ‘roses are red’ line inside is pretty terrible and although Ianto doesn’t say it to Gwen, he be won’t be surprised if it inspires Jack to come up with his own, a thought which worries him a little.

Jack isn’t in his office when Ianto gets back into the Hub. Instead, there is a little note propped on the desk.  
“I don’t love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz  
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:  
I love you as certain dark things are loved,  
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.”  
“Pablo Neruda.” Ianto says, louder than he would normally. “Nice.”  
There is no answer and he turns the paper over. There is a name on the back, which Ianto recognises as belonging to a new French restaurant in town. He gets out his phone and thinks about ringing Gwen, gets as far as her name in his contacts, before he realises she won’t answer if she’s driving, and if she’s already home he doesn’t want to interrupt her evening with Rhys.  
So he puts on his coat and takes the lift up to the Plas, into the cold February night. Jack is waiting for him when he gets to the restaurant, candle on the table.  
“You know I would have settled for TV and pizza?” Ianto chides, but Jack just smiles. He has graffitied Ianto’s napkin, more lines of poetry flowing over the red paper.  
“i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)”  
And written a little smaller:   
“It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.”


End file.
